Primeval A to Z Challenge
by Seanchaidh
Summary: 1st a Dark Angel challenge, now a Primeval one. Every chapter is a new story with a different genre & characters, each based on the next letter of the alphabet. Give it a go! Humour, suspense, drama, romance, Cabby, Secker, Jecker, Clutter, Jutter, Lester and Rex! Rating may change.
1. A is for Aardvark

**A/N: I came across a couple of sets of these while reading some Dark Angel fanfiction. The basic idea is that we writers try to come up with little sketches for each letter of the alphabet. They don't have to be in any sort of chronological order, or form part of a larger story: they can be entirely separate entities from each other. They must, however, include one or more of the characters from any episode of Primeval and have a central plot that circles around something beginning with one of the letters of the alphabet. The aim is 26 sketches or short stories, one for each letter, posted in alphabetical order.**

Sound easy? Give it a go! Just open a thread in this forum, or, if you prefer, in the Primeval forum on  
my board or on . Once it's up and running, why not post a link to it here, so that we can all go and read your work. Let's see who gets to Z first!

**

* * *

**

**A is for Aardvark**

(Rating K+ for language)

Sarah Page did not like camping.

She had never really considered herself a girly girl, except perhaps when Abby was around, but camping was definitely not her thing. Too much mud, too much cold, too little comfort and far too many bugs!

She pulled the sleeping bag round her and tried to get comfortable in her cramped, military issue, one woman tent, mentally cursing Lester for sending her on this mission and Becker for being the smug self-satisfied git that had handed her the tent and left her to put it up on her own while his men built an entire camp around her. It didn't help that she was the only woman on the team now. Abby was who knows where, along with Connor and Danny. At least she hoped they were all together still, wherever they were. Jenny had vanished off the face of the planet it seemed, and no matter how much wheedling and conniving Lester did down the phone he seemed unable to find even the slightest trace of her. Mysterious Eve had turned out to be the even more mysterious Helen, who had also disappeared, although that was probably a good thing in this case. Margo had been kept back in the ARC as the only person other than Connor who was apparently able to work the anomaly detector without making it crash or giving someone an electric shock. It wasn't as if Sarah knew the IT technician well - she had mainly faded into the background in the ARC and just got on with whatever needed doing - but even just a little bit of female company would have been nice. And she could have got to know her.

Sarah groaned and rolled over again. Pale light was forcing its way through her closed eyelids, reminding her that the sun rose early high up in the plateaus of southern Africa. Far too early for Sarah's liking. She hadn't slept a wink on the flight over, surrounded by snoring squaddies. Not that the view wasn't good, of course: sandwiched between a window and Becker's ever unruffled form. He didn't snore. Well he wouldn't, would he? Being the perfect man and God's gift to women and all. With his perfect body and perfect hair and perfect melting chocolate eyes that turned almost every woman he met into an incoherent mess within seconds. And he knew it. The prat!

Sarah thumped her pillow, remembered it was inflatable, and groaned again. She rolled onto her back and stared at the wall of the tent murderously as the sun rose on the other side of it. Well, that was it: she wouldn't get any sleep now. She sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes.

A shadow fell across her and she blinked, wondering if one of Becker's men was about to sound the reveille right outside her tent. It was the sort of thing the chauvinistic sods would do too. She glared at the shadow, then froze. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the monstrous form shadow-playing on her tent wall. She could feel the scream bubbling up inside her from right down in her guts.

"BECKER!"

An instant later, the captain's head was sticking into her tent. She looked round at hain and pointed wordlessly at the wall, only to see an amused expression on his face. Her fear disappeared instantly, replaced by rage.

"What?" Sarah snapped. "What stupid trick is it this time? Two of your men in a sleeping bag? A cardboard cutout? What?"

"It's none of that!" Becker laughed. "We haven't done anything! I promise! Just come out and look."

Sarah wrestled her way out of her sleeping bag and pulled a long jacket round her. She glared at Becker as she shoved her feet into the nearest pair of shoes and followed him out of the tent. When she looked at the source of her fearsome shadow, she crossed her arms and turned back to Becker, one eyebrow raised.

"You're really not an animal person, are you?" Becker smirked.

"Hence my many qualifications in Egyptology, Becker," she snapped back dryly.

Becker did his best to stifle a laugh, but, for once, his unbreakable facade failed him.

"Well?" Sarah sighed. "It looks to me like it belongs on the other side on an anomaly. Why aren't you worried about it?"

"That, Doctor Page, is an aardvark," said Becker smugly. "And I'm afraid they live here. Quite naturally!"


	2. B is for Bygone Times

**B is for Bygone Times**

Genre: Drama/Suspense

Characters: Christine Johnson

Rating: K

Timeline: Pre-3.8

xxxx

They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. With Christine Johnson, it did so on a daily basis. Every time she sat down in her well-ordered, sparkling clean, safe, comfortable office, she found herself thinking back to her early years.

She might have been much the same as any other successful office worker in that respect: reminiscing over her rise to power from almost nothing. She had worked to get here. Really worked. She had dreamt up her plan decades ago: thought it through, ironed it out and then put it into action. Now, here she sat, watching the fruits of her labours ripen.

She was nearly there. So very nearly. If she could just get her hands on that last piece of the puzzle. She wasn't entirely sure she would be able to use it even if she did, but there was no hope at all without it. The boy at the ARC had managed to get it cleaned up, though. That was a start. All she had to do now was get it back off him.

Swinging her chair round, she stood. Time to pay a visit to her pet downstairs. Her scientists were making slow progress, but then none of them really knew what they were dealing with here. They were being asked to invent a piece of neurotechnology that, by rights, shouldn't be invented for centuries yet. All they had to go on were her "specifications": garbled memories from her childhood, watching her father explain the technology to his colleagues. They had tried it out. It had worked.

She remembered the control tower clearly. Its reinforced windows kept the bugs out, but always gave her a cut-off feeling, as if she wasn't really part of that world. She never knew if her father felt it too. He was always too wrapped up in his work then. He had been ever since her mother disappeared, Christine's aunt had explained to her.

Christine couldn't remember her mother. She had been a baby when, one day, her mother had walked out the door and never come back. Her aunt, her father's sister, had told her that was the same day the bugs arrived. She had told Christine that her father's obsession with the bugs, and how to kill them, came from that day, eight years before, when her mother disappeared. There were no photos of her mother. Her father had destroyed them all after she disappeared. Her aunt said he found them to painful to look at.

Up in the control tower, there were other things almost too painful to look at. The only problem was, they weren't so easy to get rid of. She remembered clearly looking down at the street, twenty storeys below, the day it all went wrong. She was just nine years old. Her father's invention had kept the bugs at bay for six months and people were just starting to come out into the open once again. They had lived their lives as nocturnal creatures up to now, scurrying through underground passages by day and only coming up to the surface once darkness had stopped the bugs flying. They looked like ants from up in the tower. The ones walking anyway. Others were trying to get old biodiesel cars moving after eight years of abandonment. Everything below was a hive of activity. It had started slowly a few months ago, once word had spread that the government had engineered a controlled predator that was able to take care of the bugs, and had spiralled. Christine had heard that there was even a market opening a couple of miles away. Selling real fruit!

The first tremor had been tiny, barely noticeable down on the ground, but up in the tower, Christine had felt the building shake. She had looked out of the window to see an old bus moving. Perhaps it had been that, she thought, revving its engine into life after almost a decade. Moments later, the second tremor hit. Life on the ground seemed to still as if someone had just pressed pause. There was no third tremor, just a massive earthquake that buckled the streets below and shook the buildings until massive cracks began appearing down their sides.

Christine watched as huge chunks of land out in the distance suddenly disappeared, dropping from her view like a dropped plate. Looking down, the scene that had suddenly stilled was now utter panic. Cars were abandoned yet again as buildings crumbled. People rushed in all directions as chaos erupted around them. The streets cracked, statues fell, masonry crashed to the ground as people ran for cover. Christine watched as the massive statue, that marked the entrance to the scientific quarter of the city, toppled slowly to one side. It was almost as if the world had faded into slow motion, the fall of the great statue foretelling an even greater fall as it creaked and groaned and finally hit the ground, shattering into pieces and sending more localised rumble through the ground and all the way up the control tower.

A sudden silence had made Christine turn. Every person in the control tower behind her was looking in the same direction. The wall of monitors, displays and controls had gone dark. Every electrical indicator in the tower was dead. Christine watched her father's face pale. He had rushed to the window, followed slowly by everyone else, and she had seen a look of utter dismay and grief slide down his face. She followed his gaze then, looking down into the mess of the city once more, and had frowned at what she saw there. Now that the tremors and the quake had stopped, people were coming out of their hiding places, trying to get home presumably. Above their heads, clinging to the ragged sides of the buildings, Christine spotted them. The predators. Her father's creation, no longer glowing the dark red that had indicated its presence, sat inert on top of each head.

It was then that the whole magnitude of the situation impressed itself onto Christine Johnson's nine year old brain. The power had failed. Without power, the neural clamps that controlled each of the deadly predators patrolling the city had also failed. The predators were free. Free to attack any bugs that showed face, yes, but also free to attack humans. To beat the bugs, the government scientists had had to create a killing machine even more efficient. One that could detect and home in on even the slightest movement in even the darkest night. One that had to be controlled forcibly, or it would mean the destruction of their civilisation. And now that control had failed.

The room behind Christine erupted into noise as scientists, security guards, politicians and secretaries ran in all different directions, either looking out the windows for a safe route through the city, or crowding down the stairs to try and reach the secure stronghold of the ARC. Christine felt her father grab her and pick her up, carrying her to the empty lift shaft. He had swung her onto his shoulders and started climbing down the shaft followed by one of the guards, a friend of his, who had waited for him.

"What if the power comes back on?" Christine had whispered in the hollow darkness of the shaft.

"It won't," was her father's terse reply.

It had taken them almost half an hour to climb down the twenty-two storey ladder pinned to the side of the lift shaft. They had emerged into the darkened sub-basement level of the ARC, her father swinging her round into his arms as he ran through the shadows, the guard following them closely.

They had reached the Cutter wing in safety, the guard closing and bolting the door behind them once they were through. Only once they were in the anomaly chamber did Christine's father finally set her down on her feet again. She watched in shocked silence as he brought the console in the centre of the room to life. She had heard about the anomaly chamber from her father, but never before had she been allowed entrance to the government's holy of holies. Hugging her arms tightly around her small form, Christine watched her father pick up a long hexagonal tube and slot it into place. As the tube disappeared into the mechanism a dull, sepulchral thud sounded from the closed and bolted door behind them. Her father and the guard exchanged a glance. Her father shook his head.

"But there's people out there, Professor," the guard protested.

"Not any more, Tom," replied Christine's father, his attention already back on the console in front of him.

"What are you doing, father?" Christine asked, her voice shaking even more than her body.

"Opening a door out of here," said her father, still not looking up. "It will take us someplace safe."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. Quiet now. Daddy needs to concentrate."

Christine stood, obediently silent, and watched as the shimmering tangle of light burst upwards into the air. Her father was engrossed in the light display, but Tom, the guard, was not. Out of the corner of her eye, Christine saw Tom's face change and she froze. Suddenly it felt as though someone had poured icy water down her back. She turned, ever so slowly, to look in the direction that had captured Tom's attention.

The door that they had locked and bolted was open. Somehow, that one dull thud had been all it had taken to break the lock. That meant a predator. They were the only creatures on the planet with enough intelligence to know how to do that.

"Got one!"

Christine turned sharply at the sound of her father's voice. The tangle of lights shone brightly at one point, then faded from view. As it did so, the face of a predator, obscured by the lights, became visible. Christine heard herself scream.

As she sat in her quiet, warm, safe office in the twenty first century, Christine often wondered if that high piercing scream had been the thing that had saved her life. It had confused the predator enough that her father had had time to hit the button that opened the doorway, the anomaly, through to the twentieth century before the beast pounced. She still remembered his agonising screams as Tom had picked her up and dashed through the anomaly, carrying her into the safety of warm summer sunshine, soft grass and tall trees. He had barely had time to put her down before he was pulled sharply backwards, the long grey claws of a predator closing around his throat as they both disappeared beck through the anomaly.

She remembered sitting, staring at the spot where they had disappeared long after the anomaly had closed. She was still sitting there, shell shocked, when a couple found her. They had come to the site to meet their building manager, looking for ways to turn it into some sort of racetrack. He was late. Instead, they had found a small, confused, nine year old girl, who at first said nothing, then started babbling nonsense about monsters.

The first six months she had spent in a psychiatric hospital, while the authorities desperately tried to find some relatives to fob her off on. Eventually, they had given up. A series of foster homes followed, each with a different school to go to, until she was twelve. Then she had been settled with the Mackenzie family for a year when they decided to adopt her, and there she stayed. She never did call them mother or father, but she was grateful to them for their kindness and their acceptance of the strange young girl who knew far more than she should have, especially about things that couldn't possibly have happened yet.

She had worked hard in the years since then. Studied hard. Got top grades. Got into Cambridge. All to get to her current position in a nice, safe, clean, warm, spacious office in a government building in London, with the power to save the future. Her future. And her father.


	3. C is for Coelurosauravus

**C is for Coelurosauravus**

Rating: K

Genre: Humour

XXXX

"Here, Rex! Come on! Come to Auntie Sarah!"

Rex peeked down from his perch in the rafters. Sarah was turning in circles, holding out a plate of food and scanning the room. She started turning his way and he wriggled backwards into his cosy little niche.

"Come on Rex! I've got some lovely food for you!"

Rex's nostrils flared. He'd heard that one before! It would have been slightly easier to believe that Sarah just wanted to feed him if he hadn't sat up here and watched both her and Becker chase Sid and Nancy around the flat for half an hour, then load them into thick metal boxes. Besides: somebody had to stay and wait for Abby and Connor. They would be back soon, Rex thought. They'd been gone for ages. They were never normally gone this long, so that meant they must be back soon. And Abby would be upset if he wasn't there to welcome her home.

He heard a sigh from the floor below and edged forward to look over the side of the thick wooden beam. She was sitting down now. The plate of food sat idly on the table by the sofa.

"Any luck?"

Becker's voice from the other side of the room made Rex move his head sharply, banging it off the adjoining beam in the process. Without thinking, he chirped in protest, then quickly shuffled backwards as two pairs of human eyes looked directly in the direction of the sound.

"Maybe a little more now," said Sarah. "Come on Rex, we know you're there!"

Rex growled stubbornly and wriggled further backwards.

"Come on Rex, we're not going to hurt you!" Sarah persisted. "We just want to take you into the ARC to look after you for a while. Just while Abby and Connor are away."

"Haven't you told him?" Becker whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Becker: he's a lizard. He won't understand. I'm not speaking to a lizard like an adult. That's just silly."

"Well everything else has been working so well, hasn't it," replied Becker dryly.

"Fine!" Sarah hissed. "You think you can do better: you try!"

Rex listened to the sound of stomping footsteps and a slammed door, followed by Becker clearing his throat.

"Right, Rex. Now this is getting silly," he started. "Look, Abby and Connor are stuck, okay. They are stuck on the other side of an anomaly and we have no idea where they are or how to get them back. They might turn up next week, next month, next minute or maybe never. Until they do show up, though, you need feeding and looking after, and I'm getting extremely bored with this nonsense, so get down here this instant before I go and get my dart gun!"

Rex edged to the rim of his private precipice and looked down. Becker was starting right back up a him.

"Yes, I do know where you are and, in case you're wondering, yes, I am that good a shot," said Becker, never taking his eyes off the wayward lizard.

Rex chirped thoughtfully, putting his head on one side and scrutinising the black clad soldier below.

"Sarah, bring me my dart gun, will you," Becker spoke into the radio at his shoulder.

Rex chirped again and pushed himself off the ledge. He glided round in a circle and came to land on the table in front of Becker.

"Finally!" Becker sighed, stepping forward to pick Rex up.

At that moment, the door opened to reveal a puzzled looking Sarah and Rex darted off the table onto the floor, heading straight for the open door.

He paused at Sarah's feet, looked up at her and chirped. Sarah blinked back at him and watched as the little lizard waddled out the door and hopped up into the back of the waiting ARC truck.

"What the..." Sarah began.

"You see: you just tell the little fella the truth and down he comes no problem," Becker smirked.

"Uh-huh," Sarah raised an eyebrow. "And the small matter of a dart gun had nothing to do with it?"

"I prefer to think of it as my suave, sophisticated charm," smiled Becker, heading past Sarah and towards the truck.

"Yeah, well, mister suave and sophisticated," Sarah smiled sweetly as she caught up with him, "what Rex thinks of your charm is currently dripping down your back, so I guess I'm calling shotgun and you can ride the back with your new best friend."


	4. D is for Dream

**D is for Dream**

Rating: K+

Genre: Humour

Characters: Abby Maitland and Connor Temple

Timeline: Post Series 3

XXXX

Abby Maitland was lying on a beach, sunbathing. In her bikini.

She shifted, the hot sand radiating through the rough beach towel she was lying on. It really was a bit of an oven now. The day must be nearing noon, maybe even after it. She frowned as a pang of hunger made her stomach grumble. Maybe it was time for her to head in for lunch. The hotel would have their customary buffet laid out, ready and waiting for all those guests that were still hanging around the area at that time. The thought of the buffet table made Abby's stomach growl again. If she was late for lunch, there might not be much left. Most of the guests tended to sleep through breakfast and turn up early for lunch, then disappear for the rest of the day. Abby didn't know where. She couldn't think of anywhere on the island really, other than the hotel and the beach. Her beach.

She shifted again. She really should get up and go back to the hotel. What was stopping her? And yet she just didn't seem able to muster the energy to move. She would start burning if she wasn't careful. Maybe she should put more sun cream on. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember putting sun cream on in the first place.

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she thought back. She hadn't put sun cream on. She was sure of that. But she could remember someone else rubbing it into her back for her. Who? Connor? Yes, Connor. That was it. He was with her. She moved her hand to the side slightly and felt it meet fabric and warm flesh. He was there, right beside her as always.

She smiled as her mind brought her a fresh wave of images, remembered or imagined, she wasn't too sure now. Things were starting to seem a little hazy. Maybe she really should go in and cool down for a bit before she got heat stroke. She pushed herself up on her elbows. Well, that was a start. It was amazing how lazy a deserted beach on a hot day could make you.

Maybe better to roll onto the rest of the towel, then get up onto her knees, she thought, rather than kick up hot sand trying to stand up from this position. She rolled onto her side. Immediately an arm grabbed her, pulling her back across the scratchy towel. Connor. She could feel him holding her close. As nice as it was to be close to him, thought, she really did have to get back to the hotel and cool down. It was so hot. Surely Connor must be roasting! She could feel the fabric of his jeans and jumper against her. Who lay about on a beach like this in that much clothing, seriously?

She tried to pull away from him and get up, but his grip on her only tightened.

"Need to go back to th'otel," she mumbled. "Leggo, Conn."

"Really not a good idea right now, sweetheart," Connor's voice came back, sounding weirdly muffled in her ears.

"But th' beach is too hot! Need to cool down!"

"Well, I did say you should have worn your bikini!"

"Am wearing bikini!"

"Really? Then what am I holding on to?"

Abby frowned, focussing her attention on Connor's hand. It was locked in a tight fist around the material of her top. Her top? But she wasn't wearing a top? But, Connor was holding it. And Connor was holding her next to his fully clothed body. And the towel beneath her really was very scratchy. And the sand was so hard and lumpy. She frowned in confusion.

"Wha's goin' on, Conn?"

"I think you might be dreaming, Abby, love."

"No..."

"Just try opening your eyes for me..."

"They're already open..."

"Okay," Connor paused. "How about you try closing them for me then?"

Abby hesitated, then obediently closed her eyes.

"Now I hate to break it to you," Connor carried on regardless, "but you're not on a beach. You're up a tree. A big tree. In the middle of the cretaceous era somewhere. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't make any sudden movements when you woke up."

"What?" Abby frowned. Something in the back of her mind went ping. The tree, that rung a bell. The cretaceous, that too. But Lester had got them out of there hadn't he? She frowned. Or had he? No. Now she thought of it, she couldn't remember actually being rescued. She could remember Lester telling them to have a month off and giving them two tickets for a cruise around the Bahamas, stopping off at a little island paradise for a week. Admittedly she had thought that the pink cat suit was a little odd, but nobody else had been bothered by it and he had explained that his suit was at the cleaners. That was crystal clear. Not the rescue though. Funny, you'd think she'd remember something like that. If it happened.

"Come on now, Abby. Wake up for me, darling."

Connor's voice cut through to her again. It was still muffled, but a bit clearer now. And the heat was beginning to fade too. The light was shining through her eyelids though. Shouldn't her sunglasses be stopping that? She raised a hand to her eyes. No sunglasses. She rubbed at her eyes and opened them slowly. They barely got half open before she stiffened and her eyes widened suddenly.

Right there in front of her was a distant, but majestic landscape. A few trees bordered her view, but away in the distance, right in front of her, rose a conical mountain. A spit of red leaping momentarily above the top of the mountain identified it as a volcano, but that wasn't what had made Abby stiffen. What had made her freeze was the fact that the view in front of her made it seem for all the world like she was floating in mid air. The lumps and bumps beneath her told her she was supported, but only just. Right at the edge of her body, she could feel the tree fall away. She didn't dare look down.

"Easy does it," Connor's voice was clear now as he rolled her back onto their woody platform.

Abby stared up at coniferous branches in silence. She didn't need to look down to remember how high up the tree they had climbed. Nor did she need to look down to recognise the faint snaps and growls as the sound of juvenile raptors arguing over whatever recent carcass they had managed to find. If Connor hadn't caught her, they'd have had another carcass to argue over: hers!

Connor.

She let her eyes slide sideways to find him grinning down at her.

"You alright?" Connor smirked.

"Just a little rattled," Abby replied. "Never really thought I was one for sleepwalking."

"You would have to pick this moment to start, wouldn't you!"

"Yeah," Abby laughed, relaxing a bit. "Typical me, eh?"

"Yeah," Connor chuckled, rolling back down to lie beside her again, arms folded behind his head.

Abby rolled over towards him, finding safety not only in her distance from the edge, but also in her proximity to the arms that caught her last time. She laid her head down on his chest and wrapped an arm around his torso, noting the hesitation before he let his arm move from behind his head to around her shoulders.

"What's this for?"

"Insurance," Abby sighed, settling down again. The sun was only just starting to tint the horizon. It wouldn't be fully light for an hour or so yet. There was still time to relax before she had to face the climb down again, and if she could do that and manage an excuse to hold onto the only person who'd managed to save her life in quite so many time zones, then that was all the better.

"So how about you tell me more about this dream you were having?" Connor sighed.

"Not much to tell really," Abby murmured, finding her new pillow vastly more comfortable than the old one. "I was lying on a beach in my bikini, sunbathing."

"On your own?" Connor queried, an odd tone in his voice. "It's just it seemed sometimes like you had company."

"Maybe," Abby muttered. What was he digging for now?

"Doing what exactly?"

"None of your business," she snapped, feeling a blush start to rise in her cheeks.

"You sure?" Connor asked again, amusement definitely evident in his voice now. "I could have sworn I heard my name mentioned!"

Suddenly Abby was feeling the heat again, but this time it wasn't from a tropical sun, it was from the burning blush that had spread fully across her face and neck!


	5. E is for Equal Opportunities

**E is for Equal Opportunities**

The anomaly hadn't been too challenging. It had opened up in an old Woolworth's store that hadn't been redeveloped yet. The store was in a quiet part of London, just five minutes drive from the ARC. There were no janitors or watchmen. It was a reasonable hour of the day. They had no hold ups or traffic jams getting there. There weren't even any speed bumps. So far, thought Sarah Page, so good. Where was the catch?

When they arrived at the anomaly site, there were no stray civilians gawking at the strange shimmering light in the abandoned store. When they found their way into the store there were no weird noises, beyond the normal anomaly pulsation, and no bizarre creatures trying to fight their way out to wreak havoc on the general populus. As they made their way through the store, nothing jumped out at them, or tried to eat them, and there were no mangled corpses littering their path. When they found the anomaly, there had been no difficult whatsoever in setting up the locking device and applying it. Nothing had got in their way. There were no inconvenient left over goods racks lying around. Everything was straightforward and simple. So far, thought Captain Becker, so good. Where was the catch?

The obligatory sweep of the premises went smoothly enough. There were no small, hidden holes chewed in the walls by errant diictodons or giant centipedes. There were no massive, obvious holes knocked through by dinosaurs, ancient mammals or the occasional medieval knight. There were no future predators clinging to the ceiling or hiding in corners. No indescribable spores climbed the walls. No razor-mouthed missing links roosted in the old goods racks. Nothing slimy oozed from the anomaly site. Where was the catch?

Two hours of searching finally located something living, and non-human, in the abandoned store. Curled in a corner, all eight legs wrapped protectively around a silk-wrapped bundle, sat a spider. Not an ordinary, modern, British spider, like the ones you find in your bath or your curtains. Not even a large tropical spider, like the ones you see in zoos and museums, and occasionally tanks belonging to pet shops or the weird kids who haven't yet figured out that that's why they have no friends. This was an armour plated, hairless spider the size of a watermelon; and that meant ancient!

There was the catch!

Captain Becker signalled to one of his men to approach. The soldier was as tall as his captain and broader across the shoulders, on which he carried a backpack containing the workings of an old vacuum cleaner attached to a clear, sturdy plastic tube, some half metre in diameter, with a trapdoor at one end and a clear plastic pit at the other. It had been one of Connor's designs from way back. He had called it the Super-Pooter.

With the spider safely sucked into the plastic pit, Captain Becker turned his attention to the silk ball it had been sitting on. Without knowing how strong or delicate it was, or what it contained, Becker was not eager to try the same tactics on it as he had its guardian. He turned to Doctor Sarah Page, standing by his side.

"I think you should just lift it and throw it back through the anomaly," he said.

"Me?" Sarah's eyebrows lifted. "Why me? You do it!"

"I'll be on the lock mechanism," said Becker quickly, eager to hide his nervousness at all things arachnoid. "And you know how keen Sir James is on equal opportunities in the workplace."

"I think I'm happy to let this one slide, Becker," said Sarah, turning to face Becker and smiling sweetly. "And I can work the lock."

Becker laughed through gritted teeth. "No, really, Sarah: I insist. I need to be on guard if anything more dangerous comes through the anomaly while it's open. You can handle it: it's just a ball of silk."

Sarah bit back the swearwords and curses that clamoured on her tongue. Forcing a grin for Becker's benefit, she stepped towards the corner and tentatively picked up the ball. Holding it at arms length, she carried it over to where the Super-Pooter operative was unhooking the plastic pit. The spider scrabbled at the sides of the pit, but found no purchase on its smooth sides. Sarah dropped the ball into the pit and stepped back as the operative attached the long plastic handle.

The Super-Pooter did its job well. Even with the silk ball to stand on, it was deep enough and smooth enough to keep the spider inside as the operative carried it over to the anomaly, paused as the shining mass was unlocked, and shoved the device inside. The Super-Pooter was extracted. No spider came racing back through. The anomaly was locked again. In a little under three hours it winked out of existence entirely, without any further evidence of incursions found.

The trip back to the ARC was short, swift and silent. Debriefing the soldiers took less than five minutes, ending with general praise for the usefulness of the Super-Pooter. Debriefing Lester took slightly over a quarter of an hour and ended with a series of commands for each and one single order for both of them.

"The senior staff room is a state," he said, leaning back in the black office chair. "So much so that the decrepit and minuscule excuse for a cleaning staff that the remnants of our budget allow are refusing to clean up your mess. Miss Maitland did seem able to keep most of the mess under control and, for that matter, succeed in training Mr Temple to clean up after himself. Our favourite maverick never really seemed to like leaving any sign of his presence. Unfortunately all those three are currently incommunicado and I have been left with the only two people in my department apparently unable to keep a clean house! I want to see the room spotless by the time I get in here tomorrow morning. I realise that it is almost five o'clock, but this does not mean you will be getting paid overtime as, technically, this is something you should have been keeping on top of yourselves anyway. I hope this serves as a reminder to do so in future."

"Yes, sir," Sarah and Becker answered in unison.

The walk to the staff room was short. The room itself truly was a state. It was called the senior staff room because it was only available to the senior staff. Danny had once joked that it should have been called the officer's mess. Right now, that seemed to be exactly what it was.

"I thought soldiers were supposed to be good at keeping things nice and tidy?" Sarah queried, raising an eyebrow as she turned to look back at Becker, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

"I do!" Becker replied. "My kit, my clothes, my sleeping quarters..."

"Just not here?"

"Well, I do have other things on my mind..."

"This is mostly your mess!"

"Not just my mess though," Becker pushed himself off the door frame and walked further into the room. "We shared that pizza!"

Sarah sighed, rolled her eyes and picked up the rubbish bin, ditching the larger pieces of detritus into it as she made her way around the room. As she worked she noted Becker clearing the mugs and plates away into the sink in their tiny kitchen, fill the sink and start washing up. It was an easy task: there were only half a dozen mugs, two bowls and two plates. With the rubbish picked up and the crockery drip-drying, there was only the surfaces to clean and the hoovering to do. Becker obediently lifted the furniture as Sarah took the hoover across the tiled floor. When it came to the surfaces, he watched as Sarah hunted through the cupboards for the kitchen cleaner and cloth, leaning back against the wall, arms folded.

"Right, that should be all you need," said Sarah, handing a suddenly straight Becker the cleaning equipment. "Just the work tops and the tables. Shouldn't take you too long."

"Hey!" Becker called as she walked past him to the door. "I've done my share! Come on, Sarah! We both made this mess!"

"No, I made some of the mess," Sarah corrected him, pausing at the door. "You made most of it. And the jobs you've done cleaning up seem to be the easiest ones. Hardly what I'd call a fair division of labour!"

"Aw, come on! I did all the heavy lifting! All the guy stuff!"

"And this is girl stuff?" Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Well, too bad, Captain Becker: I have a date. And anyway: you know how keen Sir James is on equal opportunities in the workplace."


	6. F is for Family

**F is for Family**

Rating: K

Genre: Christmas/New Year Special

Characters: Well, that would rather give the end away...

Timeline: Post Series 3

* * *

It had been a cold morning. The light was slow to warm the cretaceous forest. The shortest day had passed, but only just. Nights were long and hunting hours were short.

Raising his head, he sniffed at the air. There was a new scent on it, carried by the chill northerly wind. It had been on another morning such as this one that he had smelt that scent before. The morning his life had changed for him. The morning his father had died.

He had been young then, barely able to feed himself, but he still remembered the day clearly. His father had left early that morning, before sunrise, to chase off some new threat to their home, leaving him and his expectant mother behind in the safety of their camouflaged hideaway.

Hours had passed. The sun had risen fully and was nearing its zenith before he finally heard his father's cry. He had rushed out then, eager to see what his father had brought back to fill their hungry, empty stomachs.

That was when he had first seen it: the light. He had watched from a distance as it sparkled and shimmered, high on the hill. His father hadn't even seen him there.

In rapt attention, he watched as his father stalked the strange creatures that had arrived somehow in their land. Mesmerised, he watched one of the creatures disappear through the shining light. His breath caught as his father pounced on the second creature, following its companion back through the light. Neither would have fed the small family for long, but times were hard in the short days and a small meal was better than none. Besides, these creatures seemed easy prey.

He watched as his father struggles with the creature, first dragging it back out of the light, then being dragged through to the other side himself. He could remember clearly the howl of anguish that had screamed out of him when the light disappeared, leaving his father's headless corpse to drop, lifeless, to the ground.

That day had changed everything for him. Unable or unwilling to leave the safety of their home, his mother had eventually starved, leaving him fully alone. Unsure of himself and his surroundings, he had wandered the countryside, hiding from larger predators and killing and eating anything he could catch. He had survived though - just! - and that survival had brought him to this day. The day when he smelt the scent of the creatures again.

Following his nose, he made his way closer to the scent. It was stronger now: there were more of them, and they were spread out.

Drawing closer, and keeping out of sight, he spotted one of them, a brown one, moving fast and away from the scent of the others. He watched as the mud-coloured creature stopped and raised its forelimbs in front of it. Almost immediately, another light appeared in front of the creature. This light was just the same as the one he had seen before. So the creatures controlled the light? Then surely their world must lie on the other side of it. And surely that made them all the more guilty of his father's death, which in turn had caused his mother's.

Following the brown creature swiftly, he did not pause at the light. There was nobody left to miss him. His family were gone and these creatures were responsible for that. Even if he only caught this one, it would be some small revenge for that. If he could follow the creature home, though, to its world and its home, where he could wreak even more havoc on the creatures, then his vengence would be complete.

Oblivious to the other creature hurrying along some distance behind him, he followed the brown one carefully. He didn't want to lose his quarry, but he didn't want to risk being spotted by it and having to act before he could follow it to its home.

He held back and watched as the brown one lowered itself to the water as if to drink. Tilting his head to one side, he watched as it added to the fluid instead of drinking. This was not what he had expected. He had never seen this done before.

Confused, he followed the creature up the hill and watched as she waited. Soon, he saw the creature get up and walk to the clifftop, looking down at something and making strange noises at it. Warily, he edged to the side of the cliff closest to him and looked down.

Dead bodies littered the area. The bodies belonged to creatured he had never seen before, but that looked similar to the brown one. From where he was, he couldn't see who or what held the brown one's attention, but he knew now that his revenge had to be taken immediately, before these creatures caused even more death. If a single creature so seemingly weak could kill all these others from such a distance, and for no other apparent reason than that it felt like it, he would stand no chance amongst a crowd of them. He may not even have much chance with this one. Especially not if it learnt of his presence.

From where he was, the cliff wasn't too high. He looked back to the brown one, still making noises at something below, and began his run up.

The creature didn't hear him until he was almost upon it. As it turned, he pounced, hitting the creature with his claws fully extended and knocking it straight over the cliff. It was only then that he realised the cliff at that end of the hill was much higher than at the other.

As the raptor felt his bones, and those of his prey, shatter beneath him, he had one last though: at last he had avenged his family, who had died all those years ago.


	7. Series 4 News

Episode 2 in my Primeval Series 4 is now up!

Look for **Primeval Series 4: Episode 2: He Ain't Heavy**

If you haven't already read the first episode, look for **Primeval Series 4: Episode 1: MIA**


	8. G is for Gorgeous

**G is for Gorgeous**

Rating: K

Genre: Romance

Characters: Becker and Jess

Timeline: Series 4, Episode 4

XXXX

Becker groaned. Up to two weeks off, they had said. Two weeks! It was a cut in his leg, not some broken bone! It wasn't even a big cut! Okay, granted, thanks to the venom in the wound he had nearly died, but still! Two weeks?

He had been conscious when the medics got to him, although he had passed out when they lifted him on to the stretcher. He woke up briefly in the ARC ambulance with a drip in one arm and blood running into the other. Apparently ARC medics didn't think ARC soldiers made such good patients however, and a sedative was swiftly administered. The next time he woke up he was in the medical wing at the ARC. The nurse on duty had checked his lines, his pulse, his blood pressure and so on, then told him she was going to sedate him again so they could keep his blood pressure down while they worked on the anti-venom.

The next time he woke up, he was in a different room. He remembered looking around rather groggily and being met with yet another nurse, a male one this time. This nurse told him that he was in the post-op ward and had been given the anti-venom and a minor skin graft to replace the already necrotic tissue around the wound. This time there was no sedative, just more blood and another drip running into him.

After a half hour or so, his head had cleared a bit and he became aware that his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. A croak and a vague wave of his hand brought the nurse over again and he was finally allowed to sit up and take a drink.

"How long have I been here?" Becker had asked, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the clock across the room. The sedatives weren't completely out of his system yet.

"About five hours so far," the nurse had replied. "I'm afraid you've missed lunch."

"Never was keen on hospital food," he remembered slurring. "Where is everyone?"

"They're fine. They've been looking after those kids you saved over in the psych ward," the nurse had jerked a thumb backwards over his shoulder as if the presence of a psyche ward was common knowledge. It was news to Becker and his face must have shown that. "Everyone gets a psych interview now, when there's a creature fatality," the nurse had continued. "Civilians included."

Becker remembered nodding, then decided that was a really stupid thing to do and trying to raise a heavy hand to his now spinning head. Out of the corner of his rolling eye he had spotted the glint of a needle.

"Not more sedatives," he groaned weakly.

"This should help reverse the effect of the sedatives," he had been told firmly. "You may feel a bit sick. It's just one of the side effects. It's why we didn't give you this earlier."

"And you're giving it to me now because?"

"It's either wake you up completely or send you to sleep again in case you hurt yourself," was the reply. "Plus the doctor wants a word."

"Great."

Admittedly the nausea hadn't been too bad. By the time the doctor arrived, maybe ten minutes or so later, Becker was actually feeling quite human again. The doctor went through all the checks, flicked through the notes, played with the machines and their readings, prodded at the wound on Becker's leg and then finally, eventually, deigned to speak to him.

"You seem to be bearing up nicely," the middle aged man had told him, peering over the rims of small round spectacles as he did so. "I'm happy for the blood and drip to be removed. Once they are out we'll get you up for a little walk around the room and see what sort of weight you can put on that nasty leg of yours. The graft was only minor, and it seems to be taking hold, but it will still take a few days before it has knitted itself in fully, so do try to avoid doing anything strenuous with it. I certainly don't want to see you back at work until the swelling and inflammation has disappeared."

"How long will that take?" Becker had asked, holding out his arm to the attendant nurse who was unhooking the drip.

The doctor shrugged. "A week, perhaps two," he said, noncommittally. "If it gets any worse, of course, we'll have to have you back in here to have a look. You've been given newly synthesised anti-venom, which we don't know the side-effects of, and broad spectrum antibiotics, but there may still be the possibility of viruses or parasites to worry about so do keep an eye on things. Do you have anyone at home who can help you change the dressing?"

"I'll manage myself," Becker had growled. He didn't like doctors at the best of times. He hated the ones that treated everyone like children.

"Very good," sighed the older man, rolling his eyes behind those tiny glasses.

The walk round the ward had gone well, probably better than it should have in fact. He had been determined not to give in to the searing pain that ripped through him every time he put pressure on the leg. Not while the doctor was there, anyway. Another half hour later and he was free to go, with an insane quantity of instructions and information and pills of course. And an appointment for an interview in the psych ward.

He passed the ward on his way out. Not deliberately: he had just taken a wrong turning, then spotted a sign for it and wandered over to have a look. Jess was in there. He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. What she must have gone through, to watch that girl die in front of her. He had seen people die before - it was part of his job - but not children, and not like that.

A sob, audible even through the glass of the window, shook through her and all he wanted to do was walk in there and hug her and tell her it was okay. Tell her he was sorry. He had failed her. He should have got there sooner. He should have had more back up. Any one of those things would have, could have, saved that girl and spared Jess that pain.

She couldn't see him, she had her back towards him, but the movement of her shoulders told him that she was still crying. Her hair shook as she cried. That gorgeous red hair fascinated him. He wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to hold her close, keep her safe and never put her through that ordeal again.

Without thinking, he tried the door handle. It was locked of course. He slipped out of view of the window as Jess turned to look round at the noise. The psychiatrist might have spotted him, but he didn't think Jess had. He winced at the renewed pain in his leg, and set off again in the general direction of the atrium. Even if he did get lost a couple of times, and he always did in hospitals, this one wasn't too big and he'd make it back to recognisable territory eventually.

It took him a good half hour to get out of the medical wing. By the time he got to the locker rooms, everyone else had gone home or was elsewhere. He was glad of that. Changing from the torn black cargoes into a pair of old jeans was not the most elegant thing he had ever down in his life. Not with the cumbersome dressing on his leg and that burning pain shooting through it every time he moved.

Getting rid of the shirt was easier. Replacing it wasn't too bad either. It would have been easier if he hadn't suddenly realised he had an audience. Or maybe if that audience hadn't been Jess and she hadn't kneed him right on the bite wound when trying to help him put his shirt on. He had tried to say it. Tried to apologise, in his own way. It was difficult though. She glossed over the deaths, focussing on the boys being saved and telling him what a great job he did there. Yeah: great job. Last time he looked it was Connor and the kids that had saved him, not the other way round! She was just trying to make him feel better, though. That was all it was. The psyche guy had probably told her to focus on the positive aspects of the day, and that was exactly what she was doing, for him and for herself. She knew losing people hurt him. She'd read his file, hadn't she. She could read him just as easily.

Not just him though, he though, kicking himself for being so arrogant as to think he held any special interest for her. She knew everyone that well. She could read any of them.

There had been that moment though, when she looked back, just as she was leaving...

He shook his head. Why would she even consider someone like him a possibility? He was to damaged. Broken by the chaos and death he had dealt with. Too broken for someone as perfect and brilliant and gorgeous as her.

XXXX

Jess leant back against the door of the small stationary office. Her face was burning, she was sure it was. Had she really just done that? It was a catalogue of disasters from start to finish. He obviously thought she hadn't seen him. At least, he hoped she hadn't. He never mentioned the trip to the psych ward. She had though, just as he left, she had spotted him. She had been wanting to ask him why he was there ever since then, but the psychiatrist had kept her there long enough afterwards!

And then, when she did manage to find him, she had walked in on him getting changed. Not that she was complaining, of course, but she did hope she hadn't gone too fluttery and girly. He hadn't seemed impressed, anyway! And why would he? Rushing over to help him and then making things ten times worse! Then trying to make up for it by telling him how brilliant he was, like some adoring schoolgirl! Inwardly, Jess cringed.

She could see he was hurting. Not just from the bite, but from the loss. So many people now seemed to weigh him down. But he hadn't lost them all. Connor and Abby had come back from the anomalies. He had saved those two boys. Even if he didn't see it like that, she did. She had sat there watching him, on his own, in a cafeteria full of monsters, fighting to protect everyone. If she hadn't been distracted herself, trying to find a way out for Connor and the kids, she'd have seen that thing creep up on him. She could have warned him. Instead, he nearly died and it was all her fault.

She'd tried to say sorry, but she just couldn't find the words. Not when she had hurt him again with her clumsiness, then put her foot in it telling him how wonderful he was. But he was wonderful, wasn't he? Whether he thought so or not, he was the bravest, most wonderful, amazing and gorgeous man she had ever met.

The only problem was getting him to believe her.


	9. H is for Hands Off!

H is for Hands Off!

Rating: K+

Genre: Humour/Romance

Characters: Jess Parker and Captain Becker

Timeline: Post Series 4

XXXX

The idea had been to take Matt's mind off Emily. It wasn't really working. For a start, the court jester, Connor, had been nowhere to be found in the entire ARC. That mean that not only were there no bizarre, yet animated, pre-historic creature discussions and inane science fiction anecdotes, but also that Abby was now distracted and sulky too. She and Matt sat glowering at their drinks while Becker tried to think of something positive to say until he, like Jess, could escape to the nearby karaoke.

It had been Jess who suggested the karaoke bar. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately after the first round of beer, Matt had decided to get up and sing some mournful Irish love song, badly of course, and get himself booed off the stage. What was it with Celtic races and depressing music? The Welsh seemed obsessed with death, the Irish with broken hearts and the evils of the English taxman, and the Scots with being beaten up repeatedly by the English, oh and broken hearts, and death, and deportation, and taxes, and umpteen other things...

Abby hadn't got up to sing. She'd been too busy texting Connor repeatedly and getting no answer, then phoning him and getting nothing but instant voicemail.

"He's probably forgot to charge it," Becker had told her with a shrug. "You know Connor: he'll turn up when he's hungry."

Abby had put the phone away with a shrug, but remained sullen and downcast.

Becker looked up to the karaoke stage where Jess was just finishing her fourth number - or was it her fifth? - and bowing to an appreciative audience. Who knew there were so many bouncy karaoke songs in the girl's repertoire? Becker felt his jaw tighten as he watched one of the rather more inebriated pub patrons help Jess down from the stage. He cursed himself for a fool: he had no right to take offence at the guy. Jess herself hadn't. She had taken the outstretched hand with good grace, then politely and adeptly excused herself from the drunk's presence and headed for the bar.

Becker turned his attention back to Abby and Matt, then realised Matt was missing. He looked round towards the door, the loos, the bar, then heard the mournful strains of Carrickfergus from the direction of the karaoke and groaned.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Becker sighed in Abby's general direction.

"Why bother?" Abby shrugged, turning her head to stare at the old newspaper clippings on the wall. "Anyway, I thought the big idea was to take his mind off things. Sitting here isn't doing that."

"You know you could always have a go on the thing," Becker suggested, hopefully. "Pick a song and drag him up to sing it with you. That would be better than this... stuff."

"Nah, not in the mood," Abby muttered. "Besides, I can't sing. You go."

"I don't sing," Becker shook his head. "And 'can't' isn't an excuse: have you heard Matt?"

"Have you heard Jess?" Abby countered with. "There's no way I'm going up there after her!"

Becker opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. At least this was better than sullen silence.

"Where is Jess anyway?" Abby asked suddenly.

"She went to the bar," Becker replied, sitting back and glancing in that direction.

"Again?" Abby's eyebrows went up.

"She's only drinking cola," said Becker with a shrug.

"Because sugar and caffeine are so much better for her?" One of Abby's eyebrows went down, the other rose higher. "I have to put up with her after here, you know. She'll be bouncing around the flat all night, playing computer games and cleaning her telephones!"

"Telephones?"

"Don't ask."

Becker looked over to the bar again. This time he caught a flash of red hair and a shoulder of lime green cardigan as Jess leant across the bar to order her drink. The queue must have been a long one, Becker thought. Watching as Jess charmed the barman, Becker spotted the drunk guy who had helped her down from the stage earlier. He too had made his way through the queue to the bar and was now draping a scrawny arm around Jess's shoulders. To Becker's relief she ducked out from his hold and turned away from the drunk, carrying her drink. She'd barely got past the first few tables when her admired was back, this time wrapping an arm around her slim waist and attempting to steer her in another direction.

Becker was on his feet and on his way over before he was even aware of moving. He reached them while Jess was still trying to pry the drunk's fingers away.

"Oi! Hands off!"

By the time the drunk worked out the source of this warning call, he was already in an arm-lock and being hustled to the door.


	10. I is for Imagination

**I is for Imagination**

Rating: K+

Genre: Mystery/Suspense

Characters: Claudia Brown _et al_.

Timeline: S1, Episode 6

XXXX

Something had gone wrong.

He had been gone too long. They all had. Cutter, Ryan, all the soldiers that went with them. Helen.

Claudia Brown twisted her hands together and tried not to look as deperately nervous as she felt. She could feel eyes boring into the back of her head. Stephen probably. Connor and Abby would be watching the anomaly, just like her. Lester would be busy with his blackberry. Only Stephen would be watching her, working her out, judging her every move.

She hadn't seen their initial reactions to the kiss, obviously: she'd had other things on her mind at the time. She had caught a glimpse of all their faces when she walked away from Cutter though. Abby and Connor had been trying to discreetly look elsewhere. Lester had been watching her impassively, then made that little snip about professionalism. Stephen, though, had been different. He hadn't been watching her, or Cutter, or trying to look away. He had been watching Helen.

There was a niggling little thought shouting for attention at the back of Claudia Brown's mind. It was somewhere behind the nightmares of monsters and waking visions of herself becoming an anomaly. It was warning her. Of what, though? Of Helen? That was obvious. Of the anomalies? She was worried enough about them already! Of Stephen?

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but something in her gut was telling her not to trust him. Stephen had always been the stand-offish mystery man of the group, but lately, there was something else. Something more. She hadn't seen anything definite, but she'd been too pre-occupied with Cutter to notice anyway. Abby might have though. There had been a moment, just a moment, when Claudia had caught Abby's eyes flick between Stephen and Helen and then down. Something had worried her then. What? For a moment, Claudia Brown felt an almost undeniable urge to stride over there and demand a report from the girl. She swallowed the feeling, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in through her nose, letting it out slowly before she opened her eyes again. She was over-reacting. It was just her imagination. Of course there was nothing going on between Helen and Stephen: he was Cutter's best friend!

A noise from the anomaly brought Claudia Brown's eyes snapping up from the forest floor where they had been resting. Nick Cutter stood before her, his Machiavellian wife by his side. There was blood running down Cutter's face from a cut above his eye and his hands were scraped and dirty. Helen didn't look much better. Claudia Brown took a step towards them and stopped in her tracks. Something wasn't right.

"Captain Ryan is dead," Helen Cutter announced, bending forward and resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "His men too. We barely got away."

"The creatures?" Lester asked tersely. "The future ones that is."

"Oh, they're probably still around," Cutter murmured easily. "It's amazing what nature can come up with in the way of survival tactics."

"You can't go back there, Nick!" Helen cried, straightening. "Even if the predators are dead, you'll never survive out there alone!"

"I managed perfectly well for eight years before you showed up, Helen!" Cutter snapped, causing Claudia Brown to look from one to the other of the couple with a confused expression on her face. "I only bothered coming back to see if I could persuade you to come with me. That and to pick up a few supplies."

"You know I can't!" Helen looked aghast. "It's been too long, Nick. Did you think I'd just sit and wait by the window for you to come home one day? I thought you were dead!"

"Don't give me that: d'you think I can't count? I've met your son, remember," Cutter's chin jutted forward. Claudia Brown's eyebrows rose: what son? What was he talking about? "He's a good looking boy," Cutter continued, edging closer to Helen, "good shot with a rifle, clever, fast, in fact he's a lot of things. One thing I'm sure he's not, though, is mine, and I'm damn sure I don't have to look far to find his real father!"

Claudia Brown looked round, following the line of the pointing hand that Cutter had flung out with these last words. She caught Stephen's expression with a mixture of relief and renewed disturbance: he at least was just as stunned by this display as she was. So were the others by the looks of them. She looked back round to the arguing couple. Helen was looking around now, searching all the identically confused faces in the small crowd.

"Where is he?" Helen cried, looking directly to Stephen. "I left him with you, Stephen, where is he?"

"Wh-what? Who?" Stephen stammered, still trying to assimilate the situation.

"What do you mean who?" Helen roared, pushing past Claudia and stopping inches away from the astounded Stephen. "Our son! Patrick! Who else!"

"What are you talking about, Helen?" Stephen held his hands up in surrender. "We don't have a son! At least not one you've deigned to introduce me to!"

"Of course we have a son!" Helen screamed hysterically. "His name's Patrick. He was born seven months after Nick disappeared. He's eight years old. He has your eyes, my nose. We've been raising him together all his life. You taught him to shoot when he was six. We were in the Amazon on an expedition and you said he needed to be able to defend himself his something happened to us!"

"We have never been to the Amazon together, Helen. I did that with Nick. You disappeared eight, no, nearly nine years ago now and only resurfaced when Nick and I started investigating the anomalies. All this," Stephen waved a hand angrily, "either it's just another of your games or, more likely, you truly have flipped and it's all in your imagination!"

"No," Helen stepped away from Stephen, shaking her head in despair and bewilderment. "No!"

At a signal from Lester, two soldiers stepped forwards and took Helen by the arms, leading her off in the direction of the trucks.

"Well, we always said your wife was crazy, Cutter," Lester sighed. "Though it pains me to admit it: it looks like we were right."

A sneer curled darkly on Nick Cutter's face at this and he watched Lester silently as the man followed his men and Helen out of the clearing.

"Nick?" Claudia Brown's voice shook as she addressed the quiet man. It was almost as if she didn't recognise him... Nor he her.

Cutter's head turned slowly in her direction. He considered her carefully, his eyes roaming up and down her figure almost lazily. Then a smile slid across his features and Claudia Brown felt a terror grip her that she had never encountered before.

"I know you," said Cutter, his voice as soft as velvet. "It's Jenny, isn't it? Jenny Lewis?"


	11. J is for Jess

**J is for Jess**

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance/Reflection

Characters: Captain Becker

Timeline: S4, Pre-episode 1

XXXX

Why was it that people who had been away from work for a while would come back and say "It's as if I'd never been away"?

It was definitely as if he'd been away.

In fact it was almost as if he'd never been there in the first place.

Of course, in a way, he hadn't: the entire building was new to him, most of the staff had been replaced. All except Lester of course. Government hatchet-men qualified and experienced in covering up, returning and, on occasion, dealing one on one with creatures from the Earth's dimly known past and even less well known future were, unsurprisingly, thin on the ground. And where Lester went, he went.

Apparently.

He drew a hand down over his face, stifling a yawn. How long had it been since he last slept? And would the nightmares that plagued him on those rare occasions when sheer exhaustion overcame him grow worse or better now that he was back? And would he be hit by that whirlwind every time he walked through that door? That lime green whirlwind.

What was her name again?

Parker.

Jessica Parker.

Jess.

Barely half an hour in the door and she'd got one past him already; he really had been losing sleep. She'd made him smile though.

How long had it been since he'd smiled like that?

How long had it been since he'd smiled at all?

Not since before...

Well. Not since before.

He closed his eyes, banishing the images that flew in to fill the darkness as he did so. The darkness. His darkness. Shadows of lives he was supposed to protect. Lives he had failed to protect. Ghosts that haunted his dreams so much that he faced day after day of wakeful fatigue until he could avoid them no longer. He lived in that darkness now, the scar of it upon his very soul, tearing through him like so many bullets. Everything around him was darkness. Everything rested in shadow.

Everything except her.

She was a light in the darkness. A lone star, shining in the blackest night. Somehow she cut through it all. Through the pain. Through the grief. Through the memories.

How long would it be before the darkness swallowed her too?

He knew he was being irrational. He knew the chances of any ARC-based personnel coming into contact with creatures were remote. Especially with the new security measures in place. Rationalisation couldn't banish the thought though. It lingered at the edge of his mind, taunting him. How often had the supposed security of the ARC been breached before? What was there to stop an anomaly opening up right there in the control room? Or some creature, past, present or future, appearing and stealing her away. Putting out that light.

That bright, shining, guiding light.

More than anything, he wanted to protect her. To keep her safe, untouched by the danger and the darkness: a beacon to stop him from drowning in the sea of his own grief, his own guilt. What could she know of the dangers they were about to face? Who in this world could possibly be prepared for the violence and bloodshed and terror wreaked by creatures utterly alien to the present day? Even with all his experience, he wasn't sure he was prepared. How could a young, innocent, bright girl be? She was his antithesis - the opposite of everything he had become. Where he was reserved, she was exuberant. Where he was suspicious, she was trusting. To his grief, she brought joy. To his despair, she brought hope. To his pain, peace and to his darkness, light.

God help him if he ever let anything dim that light.

And the devil take anything that tried.


End file.
